This building appeared from a distance something like a hay barrack. Now
we had a sort of thrashing-floor. Back of this we built a log stable. So
the north side was enclosed but the east and west ends and the south side
were open. We had to have good weather when we threshed with our flails,
as the snow or rain would blow right through it. It was a poor thing but
the best we had for several years, until father was able, then he built
him a good frame barn. It stands there on the old place yet (1875). I
often think of the old threshing floor. When I got a nice buck with large
horns I cut off the skull with the hide, so as to keep them in a natural
position, and nailed them on the corners of our threshing floor in front.
The cold and storms of winter did not affect them much. There they
remained, mute and silent, to guard the place, and let all passers by
know that a sort of a hunter lived there. Father had good courage and
worked hard. He bared his arms and brow to the adverse winds, storms,
disappointments, cares and labors of a life in the woods. He said, if he
had his health, some day we would be better off. In a few years his words
of encouragement proved true. He fought his way through manfully, like a
veteran pioneer, raised up from poverty to peace and plenty. This he
accomplished by hard labor, working days and sometimes nights.

One time father wanted to clear off a piece of ground for buckwheat by
the first of July. He had not much time in which to do it. We had learned
that buckwheat would catch and grow very stout on new and stumpy ground.
Sometimes it filled very full and loaded heavy. It was easily gathered
and easily threshed, and helped us very much for our winter's bread. One
night after supper, father sat down and smoked his pipe; it was quite
dark when he got up, took his ax in his hand and went out. We all knew
where he had gone. It was to put up his log heaps, as he had some
burning. Mother said, "We will go and help pick up and burn." When we